


Ring Ring

by hanktalkin



Series: Colorswapped Universe [5]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Desert, Gen, Phone Calls & Telephones, Running Away, gas stations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: Directly after the events in Arena. (Someone has to make the call)





	Ring Ring

Scout hadn’t paid him much mind when he’d shoved the hot dog in his hand. It came with a packet of ketchup and some small, sickly looking fruits that must be what passed for apples out here. Demo spent several minutes staring at the small dinner, willing himself to even take one bite.

It was fighting a losing battle.

He leaned against the brick of the gas station, looking out over the blue-turned-black of the sky. The night desaturated the desert, leaving the six survivors grey and small within the endless bowl of the world.

 _Survivors_. Demo didn’t like the word. Somehow, he didn’t think what they were right now counted at “surviving.”

Engie made his way to the pump. Demo took a bite of his hot dog, to keep the Engineer from fretting over him and also escape the necessity to talk.

“Well, it certainly ain’t ribs,” Engie said, indicating his own over-boiled hot dog.

Demo just wanted him to go. Without really thinking about it, he said, “yeah. Sure hope we don’t have to learn to love this stuff.”

Engie hesitated, still standing over Demo with the moon behind him. He struggled, as though considering saying something aloud or not. Finally he blurted, “I can’t go on the run.”

Demo raised an eyebrow. Honestly, the words Engie said right now didn’t make a difference to him one way or the other.

“I got a family to consider,” Engie continued. “One that won’t do well if Mann Co. find out I survived and wants to come ‘a calling.”

 _Survived_. Engie had been someone who got through this. He was a _survivor_. Someone who got to go home.

“So,” Engie rubbed the back of his neck, “if you were considering a cross-country road trip with the six of us, I’m going to have let you down. I’m sorry.”

“I hadn’t been considering much of anything really,” Demo said honestly. He tried to take another bite of hot dog, but it was so dry it caught in his throat.

With a tilt of his head, Engie gazed out at the badlands, as though wondering what Demo was looking at. The correct answer was nothing, and his face turned soft and sympathetic. Like he was guilty for saying this. Like it was a bad thing to want to see his family again.

“I’m going to get in contact with Bidwell.” He didn’t look at Demo this time. “If I’m working with Mann Co., they might stand a better chance of stopping these robots. Win-win.”

The last part was decidedly sarcastic.

“You’re free to come along. Anyone else too. But I…I think this is best for me.”

Demo closed his eye. It was too fucking much too fucking soon. But that’s what he’d wanted right? Something to keep chugging along to so he didn’t just breakdown in the middle of the gas station lot? Something to live for no matter how superficial it was?

“I need to make a call,” Demo said suddenly, standing so he was above the Engineer. His eye was glazed over, and he’d left his half-eaten dinner on the floor.

“Oh. Alrighty then.”

It took less than a minute to find the payphone at the back of the station. Longer to make a call, since he’d been lying to the Engineer when he said he needed to. But now that the oppressive pressure to _make a fucking decision_ had been momentarily been put off, he thought maybe he should.

Fumbling, he reached into his pocket and found a few quarters for Engie’s car. Enough to make a few calls but…

Who was he supposed to reach out to? He didn’t know the families of most of his teammates. In fact he didn’t even know most of their names. Even as he thought about it he smashed their memories together, trying to compartmentalize it, thinking _a third of BLU_ and not _Heavy, Medic, and Pyro_. He was trying and failing, remembering how Pyro had found him in those fucking tunnels, scooping him up into a hug once they realized he was a lost friend. Medic, bastard that he was, would always listen with unimaginable enthusiasm whenever Demo found something that could catch his interest. And Heavy…

Heavy was as solid as he was wise. Who’d always been there, even when Demo didn’t deserve him. A rock settled in Demo’s throat, and he wiped at his eye that seemed to be leaking again.

There was only one person he could even call really. Another friend that he wasn’t ready to open the can of worms on. But someone had to.

It ringed only once before a sharp female voice answered, “hello?? Who is this??”

“Mrs. DeGroot-” Demo began, not even knowing what he was about to say before he was cut off.

“Tavish is that you?” Mrs. DeGroot demanded. “What are you doing calling me in the middle of work? Don’t you have a job to be doing?”

Demo floundered again. “Mrs. De-”

“If you’re about to tell me you’ve been fired you’re going to be hell lad, you here me? I swear you young folks think you have all the time in the world for social calls when your prime earning years are-”

“ _Mrs. DeGroot!_ ”

Demo hadn’t meant to shout. But being called Tavish had only made the rock in his throat get bigger, threatening to pull him under the steadily climbing waves. At least that seemed to have shocked Mrs. DeGroot into silence.

“This isn’t Tavish, Ma’am,” Demo said, his voice scratchy like it hadn’t been used in weeks. “This is Graham. Graham Aitcheson. Tavish’s friend from work?”

And she was silent, like she always was when she was judging him by his voice. Finally, a sigh from the other line as she relented. “Alright Tavish’s friend from work. And why exactly are you calling me?”

The back of the gas station cramped. Shelves of candy and chips leaned in on him, and he had to clutch the payphone to keep up right. He had to do this. Had to say it. Not admitting it aloud wouldn’t make it any less real.

Several seconds had passed in silence. Demo could feel the irritation on the other end.

There was an intake of breath, as though Mrs. DeGroot was about to tell him she didn’t have all night, but Demo managed to rush out, “I have some bad news about your son.”

Demo remembered all the war movies Major made him watch on cold March evenings when wanted to do nothing but huddle together in front of the TV. Whenever the main character died in battle some soldiers would always come home, to a widow more often than not, and mournfully say, “I’m sorry but I have some bad news.” And they always did it so fucking _calmly_ it was like they’d never seen a friend die in their life. It was nothing how Demo felt now, guilty like just by saying the words he was somehow complicit.

“Is Tavish alright?” Mrs. DeGroot asked through the phone. Her voice was faint, as though she already knew the answer to the question.

“…He’s dead Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

Silence. He knew what she was going through. Although not quite; he’d never known his parents. Never would be able to quite understand the bond between a mother and her son. But even without that, he got a glimpse of how fucking painful it was.

“I see.” Her voice was stiff. Gone of any anger. Practically gone of any emotion, but Demo wasn’t fooled. “Is there a body you can send home?”  


Demo thought of a lone RED uniform, still sitting at the top of the cliffs. “…No Ma’am. I’m sorry.”

There was more silence, and Demo could practically see her nod on the other line. Maybe she had prepared for this. Tavish’s line of work wasn’t easy after all, and his whole family seemed to like dying in terrible ways. But all that was facts that you kept in the back of your mind and never examined; just because you knew someone you love could die at any moment, doesn’t make it easier when it actually happens.

“…I understand. Thank you for telling me,” she replied.

Dead air filtered between them. Demo felt he should say more, another I’m sorry, but the moment passed and Mrs. DeGroot ended the call. Demo was left holding the receiver, dial tone so loud in his ear.

He left the gas station ten minutes later. Sniper and Engie were discussing something by the truck, what sounded like whether they should sleep near the safety of gas station or try to find somewhere more remote.

Demo didn’t bother with prefaces, simply walked up to them and told them, “I’m in.”

“In?” Engie raised an eyebrow.

“I want to kill the fucking robots.”

That registered with both of them. From Sniper’s grim expression, Demo guessed Engie had run it by him too.

“If you want to scout out Mann Co, the rest of us could lie low for a while,” Demo said, his voice detached. Better than having it shake. “I dunno what the others’ll decide but you don’t have to tell them how many of us survived. That’ll give everyone time to choose.”

Sniper and Engie exchanged a look. It ended in a nod, and Sniper said, “sounds like a plan. Where are the rest of us going to be while Engie’s putting his neck out though?”

Demo closed his eye. He didn’t even like his own plan, but the others would. “I know a place. Officially, it’s a wildlife preserve. TF Industries doesn’t have any record of any mercs living there.”

Engie raised his eyebrow, but Demo didn’t offer any further explanation.

“There another car there?” Engie asked. “Since we’re going to need to split up.”

Demo thought of a 1964 Thunderbird and felt the rock in his throat turn to an actual boulder. He nodded.

“Good,” Engie nodded. “If we can get there tonight, won’t have to sleep unprotected. Can you lead the way?”

Demo nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. But he could get them there. He could get in that car and take them all the way to the front lines. He could survive.

**Author's Note:**

> since i mentioned it before, [here's](https://hanktalkin.tumblr.com/post/168396661579/alternate-ending-to-arena-warning-spoilers-for) the old ending to the fic, just in case anyone is interested.


End file.
